Dudley's Tale
by batchiq
Summary: This is a tale of Dudley. Enjoy. JKR owns the characters. Not moi.


The alarm clock began to ring, making Dudley grumble. He knew that he had to get up, otherwise Diggle would come in and drive him up the wall about how he should really let him make a potion to help him gain more muscle.

_What does he think I am, weak?_ Dudley thought as he stretched his large biceps. He stood and attached a hiker's clip to the rope on his bed. He glanced at the clock before sitting at his make shift leg press. Seven past six. _How does he stand the other world?_ He extended his legs to their fullest and stared intently at the wall beyond him. _Does he have to wake up this early to some random guy's ranting?_ He released his legs and felt his quadriceps burn from the effort of keeping the metal bed frame from hitting the ground and continued for some time.

Much of Dudley's eight months in what he and Mr. and Mrs. Dursley called "prison" was spent thinking about his cousin. He tortured himself daily, going through all of his life, trying to find a place where he had done Harry right. The only time that he could think of was the last time that he had seen his cousin. Though he had lived with the boy for almost all of his life, he couldn't help but feel as though he didn't know Harry at all.

_It probably didn't help that I was always getting him into trouble, not to mention making fun of him at school and beating him up._ His anger at himself caused his legs to jerk out of extension and the bed frame come to the hard wood floor with a loud CLANG!

"Are you all right up there, Dudley?" Diggle called through the floor.

"Never better!" He mumbled back. _I need something else to do this with._ He stood and looked out the window at the country side. The sun was just coming over the horizon, the surrounding sky inky black with little spider webs of orange and blue inside. It reminded him of the time that his father had gone absolutely mad and drove them all over the United Kingdom to try to find somewhere to hide from the wizarding world. _That's when that giant came and he started going to that school._

He opened the window to let what little of a breeze there was into the shabby little room. Along with the breeze came a slight hum from all the enchantments that were cast over the surrounding area. He barely understood why they needed these extreme precautions, but knew that without them, that Lord Voldy-thingy would come after them and put not only their lives, but Harry's, in danger.

He left the window open and unhooked the bed from the makeshift press. Dudley sighed and went to his closet, knowing that if he didn't get down to the kitchen soon, all of the toast would have been devoured by his father. He quickly changed into a fresh pair of briefs and socks, a pair of shorts, a blue striped shirt, and his leather jacket, then slipped on his beaten up trainers and hurried down the rickety stairs. _If everything can be fixed with magic, then why are we living in this dump?_ He thought angrily as his shoe caught on a random nail that was sticking out of the ground.

The kitchen was full when he got inside. His mother and father were sitting on one side of the elongated table, and Diggle and a sleepy eyed Jones were on the other. There was a fire roaring in the grate, even though the heat was unbearable: This was the only way that they could cook their meals, considering the extent of the magic that was placed over the house was so great that it interfered with all electrical appliances.

"Good morning, Dudley!" Diggle said in his usual chipper way.

"Morning." He grunted back, sitting down in the chair that was directly in front of the toast. He eagerly grabbed four pieces, then with a menacing glance from his mother, put two back. He crunched on the toast as Diggle gleefully chatted about the day's chores.

"Since it's finally warm enough, today I think we will re-paint the house!" Dudley nearly choked on his toast. His mother gave a sinister chuckle towards Diggle.

"And what," Mr. Dursley started, "about the inside? Hmm? There are bloody rats crawling between the floor boards, and you want us to fix up the OUTSIDE!" His face turned purple from the anger.

"Now Vernon, Vernon, your blood pressure!" Mrs. Dursley put a hand to his large shoulder and his breathing became slightly calmer. "I know that it has been rough, but remember, this is for the best-"

"The best? This isn't what I would call the best!" His voice raised and his breathing went back to its hastened pace. "I won't tolerate this! We were told to leave our home, so that this You-Know-Who person wouldn't find us, we can't even watch the effing tele, I haven't talked to Marge in ages, and now, since it's warmer, the rats were crawling all over our bed!" Mr. Dursley stood and pointed a fat finger at Diggle. He seemed to be letting out a lot of pent up rage. "And YOU! With your silly little spells and cheerfulness!" The smile on his face disappeared in a flash. Mr. Dursley shifted focus and pointed instead at the little witch who was now fully awake and about as enraged as himself. "You, with your bloody little ghosts-"

"They're Patronuses!"

"Whatever they may be!" He cast the remark aside. "I refuse to live here any longer with, you, you, you FREAKS!"

"STOP IT!" Dudley roared, causing his father to shrink back. "Enough!" He was suddenly on his feet. "Dad, don't you see? If we weren't here, we would be either dead, or worse! Yeah, it's not the best place we stayed, but, it's certainly not the worst!" His own chest began to heave from the anger that coursed through his body. "Besides, we are protecting Harry-"

"What's gotten into you, boy?" Mr. Dursley looked slightly crazed. "Your cousin is a hooligan and not to be tolerated, with his magic and his trouble making-"

"IF IT WEREN'T FOR MY COUSIN, I WOULD BE DEAD!" Dudley flipped over the table, breaking a fresh bottle of milk and several plates, sending the toast to the wall opposite him. Jones and Diggle both pulled their wands out, all of them looking terrified.

"If it weren't for Harry, I would be dead." He repeated, each word crashing over his parents like huge tidal waves. "And what did you do for him, when he saved me? When he came back with me, practically having carried me a full mile home? You confined him to his room, locked him up, didn't let him out." His chest continued to heave, but his tone had changed, causing the wizard and witch to lower their wands a bit. "When he would do something wrong, before you gave him my spare bedroom, what would you do? You'd bolt him in the cupboard under the stairs, leave him there for months on end, feeding him every few days or so. And yet, even though we've treated him like he was the scum of the earth, Harry wanted us to be out of the way, to be safe." Tears were welling up in his eyes. "And he wanted us to live full and happy lives. Even when we deserved to be left for bait, Harry wanted us to live."

Mrs. Dursley made a move to comfort her child, but he turned away from the overturned table and went back to his room to figure out some way to create a new way to further his muscle mass.

Dinner that evening was rather quiet. The usual fire was smoldering, the table back to its upright state. There wasn't any milk for the tea, but, as Diggle said with a smile, they would make do.

Dudley took a plate of potatoes and chicken and made to go to his room, but was intercepted by Jones, who cast a charm to block the doorway.

"Sit." Dudley complied, and an awkward silence hung over the table. Nobody dared to eat, for fear of another out burst.

Finally, Mrs. Dursley spoke. "Diddy-kins," She spoke in a soft, endearing voice. "Pompkin, we didn't. . . I mean . . . " She was lost for words.

"I think that what Petunia is trying to say," Jones intervened, with a relieved look from Mrs. Dursley. "Is that they never realized that Harry had saved you from the dementors." His parents nodded and he snorted.

"Didn't realize? Harry told you right from the get-go that we were attacked!" He said, stabbing his chicken with enormous vigor.

"Dudley, son," Mr. Dursley said tentatively. "We thought he was lying, because you had been saying that he was doing magic-"

"I said nothing. I was terrified speechless." Dudley stood, and went to the door way again, trying to break through the block. "Let me out."

Diggle, who was normally cheery, solemnly shook his head. "What you said before has enlightened a bit of Harry's life that many have wondered about."

"I'm not doing any interview." He retorted hotly. "If it's information you want, then ask some one else."

"No, we're not doing an interview, just merely wishing to better understand you, my boy." He said, tilting his glass towards him.

Dudley threw himself into the chair. "Why do you want to understand me better?"

Jones leaned forward so that the sinister candle light threw her slightly wrinkled face into great relief. "Because, Dudley, you might have some wizard blood in you."

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley gasped. "No! It's not fair!"

All heads turned to Mrs. Dursley, who was covering her horselike mouth with her boney hands.

"Mum?"

"Your mother didn't mean that, Dudster, she's just-"

"No, Vernon, I meant it." She said quietly as the solitary candle flickered ominously.

"Petunia?" Mr. Dursley inched away from his wife.

"When my sister got a letter from Dumbledore, I was jealous. I . . . I wanted to go there, too." A sudden hush had enveloped the house as Mrs. Dursley continued her story. "And that, that BOY, Sev, she called him, he would tell her about all the magical powers that she had, right in front of my face! He knew that I wanted to go, but he . . . He didn't care. All he saw was Lily.

"My parents were so proud that they had a witch in the family, and some how, I was cast aside. They never saw my sister for more than a few months at a time, but they only had eyes for her. I tried to be the best in everything, looking for some attention. But nothing worked. They would only buy special food when she was home, they would only take us places after she had come home. One year they even forgot to get me a Christmas present, and by the time I was fifteen, they had completely forgotten when my birthday was.

"A year later, I moved out. I couldn't take it any more. Then I found Vernon and I had Dudley. When he turned eleven, I was hoping that he wouldn't get the letter-"

Dudley interrupted, "What letter?"

"You were sent a letter as well, Diddy. But, I told him that since he hadn't allowed for me to go, I would never let my son go. So, I burned it along with the feathers that wretched beast left behind." Mr. Dursley looked flabbergasted.

"You mean to tell me that OUR son is one of THEM?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Diggle retorted.

"Because it is! I will not tolerate my son becoming one of YOUR people!" Mr. Dursley slammed his fist on the table. "I-"

"You what?" Jones said, raising her wand and pointing it directly at his face.

"I-I-I'll just sit down." He became suddenly calm in his frightened state.

"That's what I thought." Jones said, keeping her wand held high. She turned to Mrs. Dursley. "So, Dumbledore let you keep the boy there?"

"It wasn't easy, but yes, he did. While the boys were at school and Vernon was at work, Dumbledore paid me a lengthy visit. In the end, he told me that Dudley could stay with me on one condition. That I kept my nephew until he came of age."

Dudley looked from his mother to the wizard and witch who were looking as confused as he was. _This makes no sense. I can't be a wizard, I mean, really._ But deep inside of him, he knew there was a little chubby boy cheering at the news. He knew that even though he had once despised his wizard cousin, he wanted to be a wizard. He remembered the day after he had his tail removed, laying in his bed, pretending that he had a wand and waving his fat hands in the air, flourishing his imaginary wand. In his dreams he would be flying a broom stick through out the United Kingdom, watching people going about their every day lives with a hint of envy at the luxurious homes and haughtiness when he would spy a lonely beggar sleeping in their cardboard box on some main stream street.

Unsure of what to do, Dudley picked up a chicken leg and began to gnaw at it. Everyone followed his example, eating quietly and awkwardly, as though they were eating in a place that was clearly marked "no food or beverages allowed." When Dudley had finished off a few pieces of chicken and what little potatoes he dared to eat, he stood and went through the door, this time able to leave the room. He went upstairs and gazed at his alarm clock. He had remembered that Diggle had brought it to him, giving him a cheery smile and saying, "You have the only working Muggle made thing in the house!"

He laid down on his bed, fully clothed, trying hard not to feel miserable. Dudley stared at the many cracks in the ceiling, trying to create images out of them, using all of his will power not concentrating on his mother's speech.

Suddenly a knock came from the door. "May I come in?" It was the cheery Diggle.

Dudley merely grunted in reply. Diggle took this as a yes and let himself in the door, shutting it behind him with a creak.

"Dudley, I've been wanting to ask you something." He came over by his bed and stood near him.

He sighed irritably. "Look, I don't know how a rubber duck floats, or how electricity travels through wires, or how computers work, so beat it."

"No, I wanted to ask something else, but I will make note that you don't know how those things work." He cleared his throat. "No, Dudley. I wanted to ask you what you saw when you and Harry were attacked by the dementors."

Dudley swallowed hard. "Why?"

"Because this is the only way that I can think of to tell if you are really a wizard."

He closed his eyes, visioning the day in his mind. "We were in a tunnel. It suddenly went dark. Everything was cold." He shivered. "I fell on the ground. It was like all the happiness had gone from me, and I heard terrible things. And then, there was a bright light, and I saw the worst thing that I have ever seen in my life."

"What was it, Dudley?"

"It had the face of a mummy, only, without the wrappings. It had a gaping hole for a mouth that was sucking in and as it continued to suck in, I was becoming more depressed. It didn't have eyes, and its breath smelled like dead fish. Then, the light chased it away." He opened his eyes to see that Diggle had moved to the open window and was trying to shut it. With a heavy sigh, Dudley hoisted himself off the bed, then slammed the window shut. As he went back to lay on his bed, Diggle muttered something.

"What?" Dudley asked.

"I said, 'You're a wizard.' I know that comes as a shock to you, but, rest assured, if it was Dumbledore's will that you not go to Hogwarts, then so be it." Diggle turned on his heel and left Dudley to think about what he said in silence and, when he had slammed the door closed, darkness.

_Dudley was running through the tunnel again, Harry not too far ahead. He felt his lungs heaving with every breath, begging for air. Even though it was the middle of a dry spell, the air in the tunnel was unusually cold and heavy, as though he were running through a chilled soup instead of a tunnel._

_He kept running, even though Harry had obviously stopped. His eyes were closed from the effort of running so hard._

"_Dudley, you're running right at them!" Harry screamed. He didn't know that he was running towards anything, but all of the sudden, he was stopped by an increased chilly feeling. He felt all of his happiness fade into the darkness. He was falling. . . falling. . . ._

_He hit the ground hard. It jolted his senses, and he opened his eyes, only to close them more tightly at what he saw._

_Merely inches from his face was the foulest creature Dudley had ever laid eyes upon. The creature had a gaping hole for a mouth, was wrapped in a dark cloak, and its skin taught and rotting. As the creature made sucking noises, all hope that Dudley had was leaving him. He heard voices in his head._

"_Potter, make the bacon for my Diddy-kins." His mother's voice said. His father's deep purple face was inches away from his, screaming._

"_POTTER!"_

Dudley awoke as the clock began to clang. He was happy to not have to finish his horrid nightmare, for every night it haunted him, and wouldn't let him forget that he was the fortunate one, he was the one with all of the stuff, with all of the credit, but Harry was the one who deserved to have it all.

He made his way down stairs, not even bothering with weight lifting. Diggle's voice rose through the floor boards.

"And I was reading one of my old potions books last night and saw a potion that thickens and will seal up that hole in your wall nicely, Vernon." Dudley rounded the corner just in time to see a silver dog come soaring in through the window.

"POTTER IS DEAD, THE DARK LORD HAS HOGWARTS. BE ON YOUR GUARD FOR HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE DEATH EATERS. DO NOT RESPOND." The dog barked in the voice that they had come to know as Kingsley.

All of the blood in Dudley's body ran cold. _He can't be dead, not Harry!_

Jones, who had been nodding off over her coffee, was suddenly clutching her mug so tightly that if it had a voice, it would have yelped from her grip. Diggle's cheery face became as serious as stone. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley looked at one another, unsure of what to do.

Jones sniffed, breaking the barrier of silence.

"Dead?" Dudley whispered.

"It can't be true!" Diggle shook his head, tears falling from his eyes. Jones wrapped an arm around him, trying to comfort him. Mrs. Dursley began to shudder madly, as a sad smile came upon Mr. Dursley's face.

Nobody moved from the kitchen. They all sat in despair. Diggle sobbed off and on the majority of the time. Jones tried to be some help, but found herself sobbing along with him after a couple of hours. Dudley paced the room, occasionally glaring at the window that the Patronus bore Harry's horrible fate. Every now and then, a squeak would come from where Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were sitting, and the table would shake madly from time to time. Food never crossed their minds: All hunger seemed to have left them.

Terrible thoughts went through Dudley's head. _What if Harry told him that he had family? He could be swooping in here at any moment and we will all be dead! Or maybe he will want to torture us until we die a slow and painful death! And Diggle and Jones will be decimated! He will surely want to kill them for helping us._ He clinched his hands into fists and glared at the window again. He was frightened to see two figures coming up the long stretch of drive and walking easily through the barrier with a wave of their wand.

"Uh, guys." Everyone glared at Dudley, as though they were watching some great program on the tele not grieving for the loss of the last Potter. "Some one's coming down the drive." They all scrambled to see them draw closer and closer to the house.

"It's the Death Eaters. They've already found us!" Diggle turned Patronus pale.

Jones turned about. "We have to fight."

"Fight two wizards who can kill us with the wave of a stick? You're mad!" Mr. Dursley exclaimed.

"It's the only hope we have to survive. Com'on!"Dudley said, putting his dukes up, wanting to give them a piece of his mind. He wanted them to suffer for the loss of Harry. Mr. Dursley reluctantly picked up a frying pan and began to swing it, testing its weight. Mrs. Dursley stayed put, unmoving, not making a sound. Diggle pulled the wand from his sleeve as Jones peered out the window at the figures.

They were about ten feet from the house, already through the protective barrier. Dudley waited, his fists ready, adrenalin pumping through his body. He felt like he was about to go into a fighting match. He imagined Smelting's rival school, EPSB (England's Private School for Boys), the little worm sitting in his chair, covered in a violet silk cloth. Nothing penetrated Dudley's state. They were trying to speak to him, but he made no reply, nor heard what they were saying.

The door opened, and Dudley heard the bell go off in his head. He swung, and his fist collided with their face.

"Just like old times, eh Dudley?" They said, muffled, bringing Dudley to his senses. He saw Harry, clutching his nose, blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers. A dark, tall, body guard type man was behind him, looking concerned.

Jones acted quickly, binding the two people with a flick of her wand. Diggle whipped a bottle of clear liquid from inside of his robe and within seconds had given the both of them a dose. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley stood to the side, flabbergasted at the sight of their supposedly dead nephew.

"Who are you?" Diggle demanded of the dark man in a surprisingly strong voice.

"I am Kingsley Shackleboot, aid to the Muggle Prime Minister." He said in a loud, familiar voice.

"And you, who are you?"

"Harry James Potter, Hogwarts dropout. Can I get a towel or something here?" He said, his nose gushing blood.

_Surely they don't believe them. That can't possibly be Harry. He's dead!_

Diggle's face became relieved and Jones flicked her wand again, taking the hard ropes back into her wand.

"NO! THAT"S NOT HARRY!" Dudley screamed, putting his fists up and waiting for a fight. The man who claimed to be Kingsley stuck a hand deep into the pocket of his long overcoat, no doubt reaching for his wand.

The imposter Harry shook his head at Kingsley and walked straight to Dudley. "I am Harry. I used to live in the cupboard under the stairs then moved to your second bedroom shortly before I turned eleven. A few summers back, you and I were chased by dementors, and you nearly lost your soul to one. When ever you would go out as a family, I would either be locked in my cupboard, or forced to stay with Mrs. Figg and her million cats. Satisfied?"

Dudley nodded. He couldn't believe that he was looking into his cousin's face, something that he thought he would never do again just a little while before. He hadn't changed much since they last saw each other. He was still scrawny, with a slight shadow over his upper lip and on his cheeks and chin. He looked as though he had just run through a weed whacker, his entire body covered with little scrapes here and there, dirt and a coating of concrete dust added to the bedraggled effect. It seemed as though Harry had grown since Dudley had thanked him, but he was too stunned to tell.

A sudden squeak erupted from Mrs. Dursley, and she rushed over to the two boys and wrapped her thin arms around Harry and began to sob uncontrollably. Not only was Harry taken aback, but the entire room as well. Dudley quickly wracked his brains, trying to remember a time when she had shown Harry any affection, and couldn't seem to find anything. In an effort to comfort her, Harry patted her back feebly, his arm rigid from how awkward it was for him to be hugged by his seemingly hateful aunt.

Fortunately for Harry, Kingsley cleared his throat and Mrs. Dursley snapped to her senses and let go of him, tears still trailing down her cheeks.

They all sat in the kitchen for hours, the living Harry the center of the conversation. He told them about his triumph over Voldemort, of the appointing of a woman named McGonagall as headmistress of Hogwarts, of tale after tale of his search for things like necklaces, ornate cups, and even a tiara. Kingsley added to the exciting business with his experiences on the lamb from the Death Eaters. By the time they had finished talking, the sky had turned a deep purple and Harry's nose had a thin layer of dried blood underneath it.

"You can return to the Muggle world tomorrow. It's too late to get you moved into a new home, plus find you some accommodations, not to mention a job. Sleep easy." Kingsley stood and stretched, and followed Diggle and Jones up the creaky stairs to find a bed to lay his head. Dudley went up after them, followed closely by Harry and Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. Harry followed Dudley into his room and went to the window and slid it slowly open. The hum of the protection charms entered the room and seemed to temporally deafen Harry.

"So, how's it been, Big D?"

"All right. Nothing much to do here." Dudley lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He heard Harry say something and felt a soft thud as something hit the floor. He looked and saw that there was a camp bed that hadn't been there before next to him. Harry laid down in it and they both looked up at the ceiling in silence.

"I won't be seeing you after tomorrow." Harry said quietly after some time.

"I figured that much." Dudley replied. "If I were you, I wouldn't have even come back to say I was alive. I'd just go about my own business." Dudley sighed. "But then again, I'm not you."

"True. I almost didn't come here, you know. I thought that your mum and dad would have been disappointed that I was alive. But, I was mistaken."

Dudley nodded, listening to the creak of the camp bed. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, expelling all of the horrible life that he had had before. Tomorrow was a new beginning, and whether or not Harry realized it, they were sharing it together.


End file.
